The Eye of the Beholder (37 page)

This made little sense to me, and I stared blankly at it for a moment before I began to understand what I was seeing. The image in the pool showed the route to the maze's exit. Fascinated, I stared at this new magic, wondering why I had never before known of its existence. Was the pool there simply to show the lost how to escape the hedge maze? I felt overwhelmed by grief, by fatigue. I could no longer tolerate this, could no longer endure these unexplained things. A fierce longing to be home with Papa rushed through me.

The pool rippled again, and I saw something entirely different within it. A small cry of pain, anger, and sadness tore from my mouth as I watched my father, alone in his chair, staring into the fire in our cottage. He lifted a trembling hand to his face, covering his eyes with it. His shoulders began to shake, and I knew that he was weeping.

"Why! Why did you not show me this!" I screamed, hurt and outraged. The pool rippled and the reflection changed again.

This time, I could see Lysander sitting in his chamber. Much like my father, he was hunched over with a paw covering his eyes, his shoulders shaking as well.

As I understood what I had discovered, I was consumed with such fury I felt as though I could incinerate the maze solely with the heat of my anger. This pool, it could show me whatever it was I wanted to see. It had shown me the way out of the maze. It had shown me my father. It had shown me Lysander, who had not only imprisoned me, but also utterly betrayed me.

Lysander had known of this pool's existence all along, of that I was certain. He had not left it be because it could show him the way out of his maze, he had left it be because it was a window. I wondered how much he had seen in it. Had he watched my father at home, seen his three daughters, and found a way to lure Papa to his castle with the intent of stealing one of those daughters from him?

A small voice inside my head insisted I was wrong, that there must be some explanation, that surely Lysander could not have engineered something so elaborate, but I could not trust this voice. I had seen Lysander at his worst, and I knew exactly what havoc he was capable of wreaking. Yes, he had shown me kindness, but why? I felt a sudden conviction that there was an ulterior motive to that kindness.

Never in my life had I been so furious, and never in my life had I been so devastated. Glancing once more at the pool, I watched intently as it showed me how to escape, and then I ran heedlessly toward my chamber.

Escape? What escape? Now you know just how truly trapped you are.

Chapter 35: Unmasked

Though I waited in agony the entire next day, I did not see Mira. I tried to pretend that I did not understand what had driven her from my presence the previous day. Had I any sense, I would have been more diligent in hiding my feelings from her. When in her presence, though, I was a fool. To be with her and unable to tell her of what I felt was more difficult than any burden I had ever been forced to bear, harder even than the burden of being a beast.

I had thought it was I who drew the line. What a fool to think that I could truly control the outcome of what was to come to pass between us. From the moment I first started developing tender feelings for Mira, I should have understand that it was she who would command me, and that I would surrender to her willingly.

I will never be anything but a beast to her.

There was to be no end to my self-taunting now, no end to my torment. When Mira had begun to tell me about her mother, I had been thrilled that she had finally come to trust me enough with what I knew was, for her, a very precious memory. What a fool to think, to hope, even for one short hour, that perhaps she and I were growing closer together, that perhaps she could love me too! Even so, I was so far gone, so hopelessly her thrall, I would have contented myself had she felt for me but the slightest echo of the emotions that I felt for her. By all rights, whatever she felt should only be an echo of what I felt. She was a wholly unspoiled creature. Mira had devoted her life to the care of her father, had devoted herself to that end so entirely that she had all but denied her own pleasure in life.

And what was I? I was the sort of man who would punish a desperate woman who had stolen bread for her starving children. I was the sort of man who would turn a blind eye on the suffering of others, who would turn a deaf ear to the pleas of those who could have been delivered from their agony, had I exerted myself even a little. I did not deserve anyone's love; certainly not the love of a woman like Mira. But I had dared to hope.

I could see now, though, that Mira had meant only to be my friend. By telling her she was lovely, I had tipped my hand. She had seen what was within my heart and she had found it repugnant. It was as I had feared, though I had done my best to try to ignore that fear. Perhaps the worst part was that I not only understood how she felt, I understood that her feelings were justified. Even though I had always felt it highly unlikely that I could earn her love, facing the reality was far more difficult than I could have imagined.

Staring at her lovely face as she had opened her heart to me, I had thought to myself,
Perhaps she does see me as something more than a beast after all. Perhaps she can see past my outward appearance and can recognize the soul of the man within.

But how could Mira see any of this? How could anyone? I knew better than anyone that what one saw was a product of one's own desires. When my palace doors had been opened to the enchantress, I had not seen her as a pitiable soul in need of my assistance. Rather, I had seen her as someone who could offer me nothing. How could I ever have believed that anything could possibly be different for Mira? When she looked at me, she did not see someone to whom she should give herself heart, body, and soul. She saw, instead, an animal.

She sees what is inside of me,
hissed that insidious voice. How could I truly consider it insidious when what it spoke truth?

I am different now,
the wounded part of me insisted.
Do I not deserve a chance at happiness?

Was this a question for the enchantress or for myself? Perhaps it was one for us both, for I had come to sincerely regret my past actions. Mira's aide had certainly been instrumental but, somehow, deep inside of me, I had known of the wrongness of my actions. I had known and I had not cared. Had it taken my becoming a beast to expose me to this truth? When a man commits a wrong and is acutely aware of the wrong he has committed, he still has some measure of humanity. To be aware of that wrong and to not care seemed bestial to me. I had thought the enchantress spoke solely of physical beauty, but now I understood that she had spoken of something else as well, for she had merely helped me fully realize what I already was.

Now I longed to be a man. My desire to better myself was sincere and I wanted to attempt to atone for my past actions. I knew that I could not and would not ever forget them, for they formed too integral a part of my character. What the enchantress had granted me was the opportunity to learn, and I had found a new will to live in my desire to learn from this experience.

For so long, I had sought my father's love with such vehemence that my idea of love became twisted. He had been the sort of harsh man who felt that any show of affection toward a child constituted coddling, and he had rebuffed my every show of affection. He wanted me to be imperious, and so imperious I became. I was desperate for his notice and willing to try anything to gain it.

Yet I cannot place the blame for what I became squarely at his feet. Imperious my father may have been, superior he may have believed himself, but he had always taken care to conduct himself as a sovereign should. Though his shows of mercy did not necessarily stem from the goodness of his heart, he had shown them. I, on the other hand, had refused to put forth even the appearance of being a fair and generous ruler. I had become so obsessed with my own needs and with my own power that I had forgotten how to exercise that power in a worthy manner.

When I was very young, I used to long for my mother. Every so often, I caught a glimpse of what it meant to have a mother. Perhaps it was a quick kiss from a servant to her little one, or a smile of motherly pride from a courtier to her young. Though I had lived a very long time and though some memories faded and some recollections failed me, I distinctly remembered the feeling of longing such scenes had evoked in me. There was an ache so powerful I was astonished it did not split me in two. What would it be like to be held in warm, safe arms, to look up into a kind face and see one who would do her best to shelter me from the hurts and dangers of the world?

Though Mira perhaps would have disagreed, she was fortunate. It certainly must have caused her a great deal of pain to lose her beloved mother at such a young age, but the essential difference between us was that she had known that love. That love had gone a long way toward shaping Mira into what she had become. She had been taught the power of a heart full of love.

But she has no love in her heart for me. Pity, yes, but certainly not love
.

In some manner, I had arrived full circle. I had begun a small boy, pining for love and affection that had never been shown me. Hundreds of years later, I was now a full-grown man, pining again for love, and coming to the understanding that I likely never would taste its sweetness.

I wanted Mira to love me. I wanted that more than anything I had ever wanted. Even if I were to remain a beast, I would lead a life of contentment if I could only be assured of her love. I, who had lusted for power and riches, now wanted nothing more than the sweet smiles and kind glances of the woman who had someone managed to touch my black heart. I would have gladly relinquished my throne, my power, my wealth in exchange for Mira's love.

It was too little, too late. I was now wise enough to see that I could have lived a fulfilling life, that I could have found some sort of contentment without love, had I behaved myself as I should. Living without Mira was unthinkable and would likely be unbearable, but perhaps I could have found some meaning if I had the time to perform worthy acts, but I had no time left.

My sorrow was now twofold. I had wasted a life of opportunity, had squandered my time to such an extent that I had nothing left to show but a broken, disintegrating castle. Even the villagers would not remember me, neither as a tyrant nor as a benevolent ruler. It was as if I had never existed.

My sorrow was not only for myself. Of everyone I had wronged, I had perhaps wronged my servants most of all. Though many of them had lived in the castle with their families, there were those who had loved ones who had lived elsewhere in the kingdom. I cannot say what became of those families. Had they been enchanted to forget their loved ones, or had they spent the rest of their lives searching for someone they would never find? Even if this had been the case, perhaps theirs had been the more merciful fate, for death had eventually released them from their torment. My servants lived on in service to a lord that they must despise with all their heart, in service to a man who had been the cause of their every misery.

What a horrible thing it was, to feel as though I had been jolted awake after an interminable nightmare, only to find that reality is even more unimaginably terrible. I felt now the full weight of the burden I bore, a burden I had placed upon my own shoulders in my selfishness.

I stood in my chambers and stared out into the bleakness of the moonlit garden below me. "You could not have saved me, Mira," I whispered. "But I could have saved myself, if only I could somehow have earned your love."

What would become of me when Mira was gone? And she would soon be gone, for I had decided to set her free. For the first time in my life, I had made an unselfish decision. I had never had the right to keep her, and it was one more sin to add to my long, long list of transgressions. I could no longer keep her here against her will, could no longer be the cause of her unhappiness, for I loved her far too well to continue to subjugate her to my own selfish whims.

It had not been an easy decision for me. There was, as always, that desperate sense of self-preservation, that urge to think only of myself. Old, ingrained habits were certainly not so easy to break. My wishing to make a change was not enough to simply make it so. I would not cease to feel the rage within me, would not cease to see my own ugliness rear its head, but I knew I had the power to combat it. I knew that I could cast it aside, however difficult that might be. I was my own master.

My greatest regret was that I had seemed to destroy the fragile friendship that had existed between us. Even if she could not have loved me, it would have been a great comfort to have her near as the final moments of my life slipped away. Knowing what was now before me, I began to dread the endless silence of the castle's long corridors, the slow march of the hours that would finally lead to death, to release. It would be a sad end to my days, but I supposed I deserved no better.